Good morning, Hank; it's Friday, April 2, four days before the new book I wrote with David Levithan, Will Grayson, Will Grayson, comes out. Mmm, so shiny. Obviously, we're hoping that a lot of human beings will enjoy this book, but we also wanted to target the secondary audience of cats. They like shiny.

By the way, there is a link at which you can pre-order Will Grayson, Will Grayson in the dooblydoo. I spent three years trying to learn the location of the dooblydoo only to have YouTube move it... to my pants.

The book is about two guys, both of whom are named Will Grayson, who are different people... and David writes from the perspective of one Will Grayson and I write from the perspective of the other. And in the middle of the book, they meet... at a porn store, but there's nothing pervy about it. By the way, this is definitely a book for high school students and up; it's not a book for middle school students or elementary school students or, uh, preschool students... or Henry.

I wrote the odd-numbered chapters and David wrote the even-numbered chapters. David and I have been working on this book for more than five years, since before "Looking for Alaska" was published. And so it's crazy, exciting, and nervous-making to have it finally coming out and to see, you know, the beautiful shiny, shiny cover.

And so anyway, Hank, in keeping with tradition, I thought I'd read to you from the beginning of the book. Story time!

[reading] When I was little, my dad used to tell me, "Will, you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's nose." This seemed like a reasonably astute observation to me when I was eight, but it turns out to be incorrect on a few levels. To begin with, you cannot possibly pick your friends, or else I never would have ended up with Tiny Cooper.

Tiny Cooper is not the world's gayest person, and he is not the world's largest person, but I believe he may be the world's largest person who is really, really gay, and also the world's gayest person who is really, really large. Tiny has been my best friend since fifth grade....

Andbutso a few weeks after we get back from Christmas break our junior year, I'm sitting in my Assigned Seat in precalc when Tiny waltzes in wearing his jersey tucked into his chinos, even though football season is long over. Every day, Tiny miraculously manages to wedge himself into the chair-desk beside mine in precalc, and every day, l am amazed that he can do it.

So Tiny squeezes into his chair, I am duly amazed and then he tums to me and he whispers really loudly because secretly he wants other people to hear, "I'm in love." I roll my eyes, because Tiny falls in love every hour on the hour with some poor new boy. They all look the same: skinny and sweaty and tan, the last an abomination, because all February tans in Chicago are fake, and boys who fake tan - I don't care whether they're gay - are ridiculous.

"You're so cynical," Tiny says, waving his hand at me.

"I'm not cynical, Tiny," I answer. "I'm practical."

"You're a robot," he says. Tiny thinks that I am incapable of what humans call emotion because I have not cried since my seventh birthday, when I saw the movie "All Dogs Go to Heaven." I suppose I should have known from the title that it wouldn't end merrily, but in my defense, I'd just turned seven. Anyway, I haven't cried since then. I don't really understand the point of crying. Also, I feel like crying is almost - like, aside from deaths of relatives or whatever - totally avoidable if you follow two very simple rules: 1. Don't care too much. 2. Shut up. Everything unfortunate that has ever happened to me has stemmed from failure to follow one of the rules.

[to camera] So, Hank, that's a little from the beginning of Will Grayson, Will Grayson. Nerdfighters, I hope you guys like the book; I hope to see a lot of you on tour. Oh! And the winners of the Advanced Readers Copies of Will Grayson, Will Grayson, your YouTube usernames are in the dooblydoo. I hate having to point at my own pants in order to tell people that there is information contained outside the video screen.

By the way, Hank, nerdfighters, when was the last time you cried? For me, it was not when I was seven, it was when I was, uh... yesterday.

Hank, congratulations on writing the best song ever about Chatroulette; I will see you on Monday.